


(Don't) Leave Me Hanging

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Swapfell - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Anger, Angst, Brotherly Angst, Caretaking, Choking, Disappointment, Gentleness, Guilt, Hanging, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Misunderstandings, Papyrus (Undertale) Needs a Hug, Platonic Master/Pet, Protectiveness, Self-Hatred, Self-Loathing, Shame, Strangulation, Whump, and professional help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29556864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Papyrus has a deadly "accident", and Sans intends to make an equally deadly example of whoever is responsible.If only he knew the truth.
Relationships: Papyrus & Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	(Don't) Leave Me Hanging

He would show them true suffering, Sans swore, straining to think clearly beyond the frantic thunderclap of his soul in his ribs. Whoever was responsible for this—this _outrage_ , he would pull them apart slowly and intimately, starting with the hands that had _dared_ to lay harm upon his brother.

With a few well-aimed bones, the thick tree branch splintered and groaned, bowing down to let Papyrus’ limp form tumble toward the ground below. Sans hastened to duck underneath him and slow the fall, pushing steadying hands underneath his jacket.

“Pup, can you hear me?” he spat anxiously and then, only because no one else was there to overhear, “Papyrus? Brother!” As he lowered him, he instinctively felt along the seams of his ribs, searching for any new cracks the attackers may have left behind. Nothing? The ribcage was a high-value target, but without any damage there Sans was able to grant his full attention to Papyrus’ throat.

It was grisly to behold, deep, pulsing bruises of amber magic smudged along half a dozen microfractures where the collar had wrenched taut. Sans’ fingers fumbled as he tore at the strap of leather and metal, prying it loose from its tangle around the tree limb. At the release Papyrus’ jaw went slack in a guttural gasp, followed by a wispy exhale as his head lolled freely.

He could have broken his neck. Was that the attackers’ intent? Sans wondered, teeth clenched so tightly that his own jaw popped as he plunged the collar deep into the snowdrift. He didn’t want to look at it right now, he couldn’t bear to. If it was out of sight, it had to be out of mind. Sans would viciously deny the alternative. He would deny the nauseating, desperate thoughts that crowded his skull, stirring sweat and salt that burned his eye sockets.

Hanged at the proper angle, a shift of a few miniscule degrees could have ripped his brother’s 1 HP from his body. Pap only wore the collar for the sake of Sans’ reputation, to maintain appearances in front of the townsfolk; Sans had never considered that it could be _weaponized_ and used against him like this. What a costly mistake it would have been.

 **HP** : 0.7 / 1.

 _He’s suffocating_.

Sans had steeled himself just before checking, but those two simple, miserable words felt like a punch to the sternum. For that blow to his pride, he would drive a bone through the guilty party’s throat, pin them by the razor edge to a wall and watch them gurgle their last moments away. He would see if they took pleasure in such agony and helplessness then.

“Papyrus…” he hissed as he cupped the side of his neck. The periosteum felt as fragile as eggshell under his fingers. “Forgive me. This might begin to sting.”

He was no expert at healing magic but he judged the shudder that ran down Papyrus’ back to be a good sign. He still had sensation, which meant no critical spinal damage, thank the stars. Even unconscious, he could sense stitches of Sans’ magic crawling under his marrow. His ringed eye sockets squeezed tightly shut, teeth chattering in a feeble wheeze of dissent.

“Shhh. Stay still for me. It will be over soon.” He didn’t want to acknowledge that he was pushing Papyrus’ threshold of pain in such a vulnerable state. This was necessary. A healing ache was better than an open wound and he would not cut corners while repairing damage like this. Still, to assuage the unease roiling in his soul, Sans allowed his voice to soften and his free palm to pet the crown of Papyrus’ head. “…Good boy. That’s a good boy.”

It was a familiar, crucial phrase for soothing him, a loose translation of “ _You’re safe. I’ve got you. We’re both okay_.” In their bitter lives, with the twisted façades they had to uphold, Sans could never use it as often as he wished; even rarer were the times that Papyrus could truly believe him. Sans had to impress it upon him.

“Thank you, you’re doing so well. Good…Good, stay…”

Gradually Papyrus’ flinches eased, the magic and praise melting away his resistance drop by drop like an icicle. By the time his pseudo-bruising paled, he was fully limp and pliable in the snowdrift. Perhaps it was that which made it an arduous slog back to the waking world. Eye sockets half-lidded, eyelights dilated and dim, he could only stare up at his savior for several seconds before mustering a dazed, barely audible croak.

“S’ns…?”

“I’m here. What impression did you give, exactly, to make anyone think that mutts belonged in trees?”

There was nothing, no hint or glimmer of a smile at his attempt at grim humor. Papyrus didn’t even seem to register it. If he could offer no comfort that way, Sans would get to the point. Thumbing over the ridge of a cervical, he let his eyelights darken.

“You’re fortunate that I found you. The same won’t be said for them. Who did this to you?” Papyrus blinked, sluggish in his confusion, and Sans’ hand against his skull tightened to emphasize the point. “I won’t have this threat to us go unchecked. Tell me! I’ll see to it that this business ends. They will never hurt you again.”

 _Oh, if only_.

“Can’t…” Papyrus’ sigh rattled violently in his chest, followed by what could have been a cough or a sob. “Can’t…’member.”

“What? Are you certain? I know it was a traumatic event but t-there must be something! A smell, the sound of their voice! Did they say anything to you, give any indication of loyalties? Was it anyone you recognized from Snowdin?”

 _If only_.

“…Dunno.” He didn’t have the strength to blink away the encroaching tears so he closed his eyes entirely, hoping to hide them behind a genuine show of exhaustion and defeat. “…M’sorry.”

It was the angle. Just a few degrees off. Nothing else it could have been.

What a waste.

**Author's Note:**

> I am super sleep deprived, this idea is dark and I don't know where it came from. Sorry about that


End file.
